


Up To London

by Laughing_Phoenix



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: F/M, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, London, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Phoenix/pseuds/Laughing_Phoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an account of the events of the Rochester’s sojourn in London during Chapter XXXVIII.  Written for the 2012 Yuletide challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up To London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [significantowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/gifts).



> I do not own Jane Eyre, and make no profit from this work.

_He and I went up to London._ The preparations for our journey were undertaken quickly. My husband summoned his man of business, leaving instructions for the management of his properties while we were away, and bidding lodgings for our sojourn in London. John and Mary would remain at Ferndean as its caretakers – a cook and housekeeper were to be engaged with the London property, as were a maid and stableboy.

The journey was an uncomfortable one for Mr Rochester, a disappointment to such an active man as he had been. We settled in a furnished house on A- street, a respectable neighbourhood if not a place frequented by the _haute ton_. The housekeeper, an elderly woman who wore her greying hair pulled severely back, managed our arrival with all the skill of a general, arranging for our luggage to be whisked away while we were led into the parlour, where tea was waiting for us. She saw us seated, and then withdrew, murmuring only that she “would be available to Mrs Rochester tonight, if anything was wanted”.

Once we had finished I rang for the maid to clear away the tray. The housekeeper, Mrs. Winston, accompanied her to show us to our bedchamber. She led us up another flight of stairs, to the second floor landing. “Mr. Rochester’s room is here,” she said, indicating one chamber, then another, “and Mrs. Rochester’s is here.”

“That will not be necessary,” my husband said. “My wife and I prefer to share a bedchamber.”

“Of course sir,” Mrs. Winston said after only a moment’s hesitation. “I shall have Mrs. Rochester’s belongings moved directly.” And she was gone down the stairs, calling for the upstairs maid.

“Well, Janet,” Edward said, later that night. “What do you think of London?”

I thought nothing much of London at all, and told him so. “After all, having seen only what was visible from the coach, I do not believe that I can begin to venture an opinion.”

He laughed. “My little Jane, where would I be without your sense.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The oculist attended us on the second day after our arrival, calling in the mid-morning. After the necessary introductions, I excused myself on the pretext of discussing the business of the household with Mrs. Winston, leaving the doctor with his patient. In truth, there was little for me to do – Mrs. Winston had been running the house for quite as long as I had been alive, and beyond approving meals and making some small changes to the number of fires lit and relocating a handful of furnishings, I was quite superfluous.

I found Mrs. Winston in the pantry, examining a basket of fruits purchased that morning. We exchanged minor pleasantries and came to a conclusion on the night’s supper. Mrs. Winston then asked if “Mr. and Mrs. Rochester planned to host dinners or card parties this week, as provisions would have to be made with the baker and butcher.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “With Mr. Rochester’s illness, I cannot imagine we will entertain.”

“Yes madam.” I suspected she did not approve, but before I could say anything more, the maid came to fetch me. I was wanted with the gentlemen.

The oculist, one Dr. Collins, smiled as I entered the room. “Your wife, I presume?” At my husband’s nod, he addressed me. “Well then, madam, I must beg your indulgence, but your assistance shall be essential in your husband’s recovery.” Seeing that I did not fully understand, he went on. “It has been my experience that in cases where a loving nurse attends the patient, the recovery is all the faster, and the healing farther advanced.” That said, he recited a list of instructions – how often my husband was to exercise his eye, how often to rest it, how often to apply the medicines in the scrip he was leaving us.

I assured him I would follow his instructions to the letter, and he left, promising to call later in the week to see how we progressed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

We had been in London but a fortnight when my husband began to grow dispirited. He was withdrawn, and showed no interest in our usual pursuits. His eye and his head pained him, he said, and he brushed away any attempts to convince him to rest himself. He would not retreat to his bed like an invalid, and I would do well not to continue to try and persuade him to do so.

He ate sparingly, leaving sometimes as much as half his meal untouched, and more and more I could see relicts of the man he had been upon my arrival at Ferndean.

Finally, he admitted the source of his discontent. “I promised you the world, my Janet.” He told me, holding me on his lap. “I offered to take you to the Continent, remember? And here we are in London, and I cannot take you to see the sights, or to the opera or a ball.”

I assured him such sights meant little to me, and told him that I had no desire to attend a ball, as I knew nothing of the dances.

Still, he remained unconvinced. “Would you not prefer to see more of the city, Jane, instead of remaining locked up in this house?”

I laid my hand on his cheek. “I cannot be unhappy while with you,” I said. “Follow the oculist’s instructions, and once your sight is more recovered we can go see the sights together.”

He sighed, and spoke no more of the matter that night, choosing in the following weeks to follow his physician’s orders with all the fervor of a devotee. His sight weakened a little at the first, leaving him in complete darkness once more, but we were assured that such deterioration was only to be expected at the beginning of a new treatment, and soon enough his sight improved once more. He began to make out shapes and colors once again, along with the features of the faces around him. The oculist tested him with bits of card upon which were written letters in varying sizes, and eventually the day came where he declared my husband as well as he could make him.

“At this point, Mr. Rochester, if you simply continue as you have been, while your sight may yet change, there is little I can do. If, of course, your vision worsens, you may require further treatments, but as we are now, you may continue quite well without my help.”

**Author's Note:**

> The sentence in italics is taken directly from Charlotte Bronte's work.


End file.
